


Pyongsaeng

by sorasora



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 09:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10784556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorasora/pseuds/sorasora
Summary: It has been four years since Yoongi's death and Seulgi thought she had finally learned to accept how it was like to live as a widow. Until that Sunday morning when the doorbell rings and she found on her doorstep a young man who looks so much like her lost husband he could be Yoongi's long-lost relative. He introduces himself as Jihoon and shows Seulgi his childhood photos. Jihoon shows her a man in most of the photos, wrinkled and white-haired. The man, Jihoon says, is his grandfather Yoongi. Her Yoongi. And he is alive and well.It was too much for Seulgi to process. How could her husband be alive? And if he is, why didn't he look for her? Desperate for the truth, Seulgi and Jihoon go on a journey to track Yoongi down; if it is really Yoongi and along the way, Seulgi recounts the day they first met. As she relives Yoongi's stories of feudal Japan, China before conquest, and broken Goryeo vases, Seulgi pieces together the story of who her husband was and what the revelations mean for her. As she and Jihoon get closer to the truth, Seulgi discovers that not all stories end where they are supposed to.





	Pyongsaeng

_Rented Apartment_  
Victoria, Hong Kong  
   
Eggs and engagements. Though slightly odd, they were a harmless pairing on most days, even with a generous helping of mashed potatoes on the side. But today was not like most days, because in less than an hour, they would make Kang Seulgi a twenty-four-year-old widow.

Seulgi did not know this yet, so for now she was happy to listen to Namjoon’s seventh retelling of how Hoseok had proposed to him. This was, after all, why she and Yoongi had driven down from Seoul for a holiday with their friends. The last time all four of them had been together was two years earlier, when they had met on a budget Asian tour. Toasting the engagement was a good excuse for a reunion and excessive amounts of soju.  
   
The trip was also Yoongi’s chance to continue his long-time pursuit of the perfect egg roll. His passion for eggs almost rivaled his devotion to chickens, though generally he preferred the latter off a plate than on it. Yoongi staunchly believed you could get through anything if you had a chicken, and the clucking kind, in his expert opinion, had far more uses than the ones nesting on warm mashed potatoes and gravy. 

Seulgi never fully understood her husband’s ethos on poultry and chalked it up just another item on his long list of quirks. His rabid love for hip-hop topped that list, while his two-year reign as Long Song champion fell somewhere in the middle. (Seulgi was, by default, first runner-up, being the only other contestant in their Saturday-night tournaments.) Still, she loved all of Yoongi’s quirks equally, and the sum of them even more.

Accompanying Yoongi on his egg excursion was to have been the first thing on Sueilgi’s morning agenda, but a rogue prawn from the previous night’s fried noodles had other plans. Seulgi insisted that Yoongi go on his egg hunt without her, and Hoseok decided to tag along. She didn’t have a hard time guessing why Namjoon had opted to stay behind and play nurse to his captive, albeit slightly green, audience.

Seulgi flushed the toilet and drowned the last lines of Namjoon’s latest blow-by-blow account from the other side of the bathroom door. She squirted bright pink soap onto her palm during the interlude of her gastric flamenco. The scent of strawberries, or rather what strawberries might smell like if they were made from plastic and disinfectant, filled the white-tiled room. She turned off the tap and stepped into the bedroom. “Hoseok certainly outdid himself. I will never look at cheesecake in the same way again.”

“You didn’t think that he could hold out for long, did you?” Namjoon brushed his sandy blond hair from his brow and held up the large Nikon dangling from his neck. His dimpled smirk peeked out beneath the camera. He focused its lens and chased the laughter sprinting across her face.

Suelgi’s laugh followed its familiar trail up to her hazelnut eyes, flitted through her dark lashes, and settled where the slant of her eyelids met the faint crinkles above her cheeks. This was the point where most people caught their breath. Seulgi was oblivious to the serendipity of her curious beauty and a lifetime on the receiving end of this involuntary half-gasp had left her convinced that everyone she knew was asthmatic.

Seulgi’s gut twisted. Intermission was over.

“You really should take something for that, you know,” Namjoon said. “I’m sure Hoseok has some meds tucked away somewhere.”  
“I’ll try my luck with some tea first. Chewing cherry-flavored chalk can be Plan B.”  
“Sure thing. One cup coming up.”  
“Thanks, but I think I’ll survive a trip to the kitchen. I’m tired of staring at the ceiling.” Seulgi made her way to the sunflower-yellow kitchenette. The clicking of Namjoon’s camera trailed her, chronicling the swish of her wavy dark ponytail against her nape.

She stood on tiptoe to reach inside the cupboard, then pulled out a tea-stained cup and set it on the counter. She scoured the pantry for a tea bag. Namjoon snapped a portrait of Seulgi’s sole find.

Seulgi sighed, picked up her phone, and pressed the speed dial.

Black coffee with a hint of vanilla answered. “Miss me already, love?”

Despite the din of the Hong Kong rush hour in the background, Seulgi could tell from her husband’s voice that he was grinning. After two years of marriage, she still got butterflies when that flash of mischief crossed Yoongi’s handsome features. Unfortunately for Seulgi, butterflies and toxic crustaceans, as a rule, do not get along. She stifled a groan and grasped the counter. Her fingertips nudged the teacup closer to the edge.

“Are you alright, Seul? You sound worse.”  
“I’m fine.”

Yoongi eyed the train door. The last of the passengers were filling in. He pushed through the crowd. “Are you sure?”  
“Yes. I just called to ask if you could get some tea on your way back.”  
“I know I should have stopped you after your third plate of those damned fried noodles." Seulgi tried to stop the smirk spreading on her face. It might sound imprudent but she will never get over the way curses roll out of Yoongi's tongue: a stark contrast to his seemingly innocent face. 

"Hoseok and I can head back now,” Yoongi suggested as he trampled on more toes.  
“No, don’t. It can wait.”

Namjoon found his next subject. Two clicks immortalized his now empty pack of peppermint gum that Hoseok had, as usual, promptly polished off.   
“All right.” Yoongi stopped squeezing between shoulders. The door began to slide shut just as he reached it. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Oh, and Yoongi, please make sure you get…”

“Peppermint,” Yoongi was about to guess correctly. Something grazed his foot as he stepped back from the door. It was a blue backpack. Or was it purple? Colors tended to look the same when they exploded.

Seulgi’s hand slipped from the counter.  
The teacup shattered on the floor.

_Click._


End file.
